


the flame that burns brightest, burns quickest

by AwayLaughing



Series: the unseen [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotionally Repressed Vicious Old Ladies, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, The Hyuuga Clan is a Tragedy, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hyūga Tsukimi, her only grandson, and an afternoon tea where the table might as well be a chasm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the flame that burns brightest, burns quickest

**Author's Note:**

> the flame that burns brightest, burns quickest (unless you place it in the sky)

The knock at the door came at precisely 14:00, something which almost made her smile. “Enter,” she said, knowing exactly how loud she needed to pitch her voice and she watched through seemingly dispassionate eyes as her only grandson came into the room. What followed was a tired old script. A bow not even a millimetre deeper than needed, a greeting he didn't mean. “Sit,” she said, not bothering to greet him back and she studied him as he followed her directions.

 

Not for the first time, Tsukimi found herself wishing Neji had been the child she had birthed, instead of her ill fated twins. It didn't do to grow attached, but she'd done so anyway, or at least a facsimile of attachment. She would not coddle or cuddle the boy, but he fascinated and pleased her where her sons and eldest grandaughter had failed utterly. The problem, she thought, was that she saw so much of herself in him. Saw the self same repressed listlessness, the yawning ambition and the desperate rage fueled drive to survive no matter the cost.

 

Yes so very like her, this branded little boy who had to keep his mouth closed lest sparks fly out.

 

In her sons there had been none of this. Too easily beaten they'd been, like streams you could divert with a few rocks. Too silly and hopeful at first, and then too broken. Hiashi responded like a much abused bone, growing stiffer in response to each break. Hizashi had been like silk, so strong until you found a loose thread, and then before long he'd been undone. A ghost of himself, anchored only by the family bonds he'd forged for himself. Ryōko's death had been his own death knell, for all it took three years to come to pass.

 

Not her grandson though. Neji had come into this world with two allies at his back and lost both by age 4 and still he fought.

 

Henshō hated him, of course. He resented that Hizashi had been the first to have a child, resented more that Hizashi's son had proven at a very young age to be more than capable. He was bright, he was dedicated even back then, before loss had gripped him as it had her, pushing him to escape by being more than what he had been. Henshō didn't understand that last part, could not understand why the boy didn't just consign himself to mediocrity like he was supposed to.

 

But then again, Henshō had always been a brat. Growing up he'd been denied nothing, or nothing meaningful, and in his old age he'd grown even more intolerant and snappish. He'd resented having to step down from the clan and his position of complete authority. Resented more than Hiashi had never retired officially from his shinobi duties, the only insult Hiashi had offered his father in his whole life. A smiled tugged slightly at the memory of Hiashi's cold refusal to retire and the rage Henshō had flown into.

 

“Grandmother,” Neji said, barely insinuating a question at all. His tone in fact was so flat, so crisply decorous, that Tsukimi fancied she'd heard warmer words exchanged by bitter enemies. Neji treated his entire family like honoured strangers, something Ume, the foolishly sentimental woman she had been, had despaired over often. Even his younger cousins didn't seem to rouse anything unless frustration leaked out, but nothing of note had happened since the incident last year.

 

“You have made genin, and avoided shaming this clan by being sent back to the academy,” she said, pushing aside any other thoughts. “I understand your teacher is new?”

 

“New in what fashion?” he asked. This was his favourite game, using the rules that said he must never step out of bounds to force people to come to _him_. She wasn't sure he even knew he was doing it. Most of the time Hiashi would rather ignore him entirely, too blind to see the boy beyond the ghost of Hizashi etched into his face. Too blind too, to see the ghost of Ryōko screaming out at them.

 

It was a dangerous combination of parents, in this family. Ryōko had been glorious. A stubbornly idealistic spitfire for whom ever injury was a better reason to keep fighting than the last. Hizashi had been more mercurial, slow to act but long to remember. Ryōko was lucky really, dying in combat against what was for most shinobi – even very talented ones – an unstoppable force of nature. Hizashi had thrown himself on the first blade that came along, in the end. Suicide hidden under duty.

 

Neji, she thought, would be blessed if he made it to physical maturity, but however he went she knew it would not be quiet. She envied that, knowing her role to play was over and that her death would be, in the end, no more remarkable than a gust of wind knocking over a rake.

 

“New to teaching,” she elaborated, “I am aware of Maito Gai's accomplishments and career trajectory.”

 

Neji simply nodded, and right on cue there was another knock and one of the family servants came in, scrapping and bowing as she brought the tea. Tsukimi did not thank her, just wordlessly pointed out where to put the tea. She did, and Tsukimi watched her hawk-like as she poured her tea and then Neji's.

 

And so noticed the way she looked at the young boy.

 

Once she was gone – no words passed between them the whole time – Tsukimi gave her grandson a humourless smile. “Do you enjoy the way the other branch members look at you then?” she asked, half mocking. Neji didn't react, except maybe a tiny flutter of lashes, an aborted clench of hands that shifted his shirt slightly.

 

“I had not noticed,” he said in a bald faced lie Henshō or Hiashi would have punished immediately. She just laughed, nothing warm or kind, but amused at least.

 

“Of course you haven't,” she said, “what boy, you don't like being the bug in the jar? Amusement to some and something to be suffocated to the others?”

 

“I am at the disposal of the clan,” he said, tone cooler than ever before.

 

“Of course you are,” she said, indulging him in the only way she ever would, much less could. “At any rate, your teacher,” he nodded, “he may be new and your teammates may be civilian born and a bastard, but we will not accept any reason for you not perform above the call of duty.” He nodded again to show he understood and she studied him. “Then you are dismissed,” she said, and watched as he politely unfolded himself and headed out the door with another perfect bow.

 

His tea was untouched, but she'd expected no less. Just like she fully expected her husband's arrival, some minute or two later.

 

“Tsukimi,” he said, and she sipped her tea rather than answer him or look up at him. “What did you need with the boy?”

 

“I was reminding him of his duty to the clan, and our expectations,” she said, “tea?”

 

Henshō frowned at her. “His duty to the clan is to protect the main branch, as is the duty of all branch shinobi.”

 

“Konoha would argue that point,” Tsukimi said, “you recall we walk a fine line. Monopolize too much talent and some day we will be faced with a Kage who might see more value in branch members loyal to him or her, with no main family to stand in the way. And our grandson has so very much talent to monopolize, no?”

 

Henshō's lips pressed together, his whole countenance white, and he surprised her none at all by ignoring the comment about Neji. “Sandaime-sama would never,” he said and she shrugged.

 

“Sandaime-sama is old,” she said.

 

He said nothing to that, studying her. “What are you doing, Tsukimi?” he asked finally, and she arched an eyebrow.

 

“Drinking my afternoon tea, dear,” she said, “and planning out the new landscaping for that area behind the dojo.”

 

“You mock me,” he said and she smiled.

 

“It is my one joy in life, after my gardens and my tea,” she said. “Was there something you needed, or did you just need to remind someone you're still here?”

 

“Father should have cut your head off with the rest of your traitorous brood,” Henshō said. Tsukimi rolled her eyes.

 

“Tut tut, Henshō. You need new material, oh honourable husband. You've grown uncreative in your dotage.”

 

That was more than he could take. Henshō was not adept at dealing with enemies he could not simply beat into submission one way or another, not even years of dealing with the other clan heads had done that. Inuzuka Shirio, Uchiha Masahira and then Fugaku and Nara Shikao used to run circles around him. A dynamic echoed between Hiashi and the Inuzuka and Nara heads now, it seemed, though that was apparently less Hiashi's ineptitude and more both enjoying getting a rise out of him.

 

“Kigiku,” she called as the door closed behind him. It finished slamming shut before Kigiku glided in, a picture perfect personal servant. Kigiku was almost as old as Tsukimi herself. Grey streaked her hair – as dark, otherwise, as Hinata's – but her face was still smooth, save the slight hint of laughter lines. An odd feature on their family. “I will take my supper in my personal rooms,” she said, “and I need a reputable flower breeder here tomorrow. Not that buffoon from last time, and not one of those tittering Yamanaka ones. They talk too much.”

 

“Of course, Tsukimi-sama,” she said, “anything else?”

 

Tsukimi paused. “Yes. Please find my grandson and inform him it would be wise for him to avoid his grandfather, for some time.”

 

Kigiku's immaculate eyebrow raised slightly, but she nodded. “Consider it done, Tsukimi-sama.”

 

“Excellent,” Tsukimi said, finishing her tea. Kigiku studied her for a moment. The downside of having the same servant almost all your life was they invariably became impudent.

 

“It is not wise to grow attached to the boy, Tsukimi-sama,” she said seriously. “He is a flame, not coals. He will not smoulder and continue on, he will flare higher and higher and then die out completely, or be extinguished.”

 

“Perhaps,” Tsukimi said, “but he will be brilliant before that moment.”

 

She did not say what she really thought. That the Hyūgas were named for the sun, which burned brighter and longer than any other flame this world had ever seen.


End file.
